Afterlife
by hansome
Summary: When love is gone, where does it go?
1. Chapter 1

**Yes, yes, I'm well aware that there are a bunch of prisoner fics already, but I really wanted to take this for a spin of my own. Inspired by Arcade Fire's _Afterlife_ - I'd definitely give it a listen. Hopefully you guys enjoy it! I don't own or profit from Frozen... or anything along those lines. **

* * *

Half-expecting the churning ebb and flow of ocean currents to awaken him, a traitor's eyes widen when he realizes that the ground isn't swaying like any boat might be.

Oddly enough, the ground is sturdy… and far colder than he's used to. It's a miracle that he hasn't been stripped of his clothes and left for dead. Well, unless that's what this is. Watching the world from behind a few bars of iron hadn't exactly been his definition of a meaningful life. _Now_, definitions don't feel so permanent. How could he define an ideal way of living when even the realm of mere possibility is so far away?

There's something concrete inside of him—one goal, and one goal alone: take the throne, and swallow the kingdom whole. Not to harm them by any means, not the _kingdom_, at least. He could never say the same for Arendelle's current leaders, but drastic measures were reserved for those who got in the way. Anna and Elsa had done exactly that. What did they expect? A man of his caliber to stand by and watch ever-passively as two, callow girls ruled haphazardly?

With no more experience than what shadowed watching their parents, who could _possibly _have the audacity to expect him to believe that they were fully capable leaders?

Vim, vigor and an elegant demeanor does not a monarch make.

He finds himself musing with chained hands and his gaze on the floor – 'humiliation' doesn't hold a candle to what litters his blood and makes his head swim. Certainly, the voyage back to his home would brim with a similar sense of contempt, but at least that would hold conviction.

This? This _prison_? Has nothing for him. Arendelle no longer bears a window of opportunity. Rather, it stands as a threat – more of one than each of his brothers could ever manage.

As far as Hans is concerned, there's nothing they could do to him that they haven't already done. But by the time his pinky (they've taken his gloves for reasons unbeknownst to him) comes in contact with the shackle's rim to abscond, his silence is interrupted by the fateful sound of an open door.

The urge to swear in the name of irony is overwhelming.

"Hans?"

A beat later, he sneers. "Calling prisoners by their first name is a courtesy that you owe none, _your_ _highness_." He'd like to ask what stands between him, a guillotine, and the boat to home, but pride seals his mouth before he has the chance.

Distinguishing Elsa from Anna is far too easy—the moment one is in earshot, the tone is either composed or high-pitched. Both, however, try his patience unlike any other.

"Then what is it I should call you?" Her tone bleeds venom, the kind that stems from nearly being decapitated. Even more so, he imagines, from almost losing the one you've spent your life protecting… and all the harm that trails deceit.

He clicks his tongue in mock thought. "I'm sure your sister has a better idea on where to start. Wouldn't you agree?"

With the way her eyes search his face, it seems a great deal as though she's looking for guilt, remorse… an apology? In return, Hans offers a quirk of his brow. A smirk is far too bold, and he'd like a few answers before she turns on her heel, though suppressing it has the corner of his mouth twitching just once.

"Do you _really _have to act this way? Your little game of pretend is over, Hans. There's no escaping what you built for yourself. What good is it to stay like this? To play the part?" The temporary crescendo in her voice comes to an abrupt halt, and he wonders why she's quieted herself. Not bothering to absorb the depth of her words, the prince's expression begins to twist.

Coming away from his hunched position on the concrete bench, he straightens to meet Elsa's eyes. It's easy for him to disregard the queen's disappointment; after all, there hasn't been much else in the eyes that cared to look his way.

"Princess Anna," surprisingly enough, he sounds more curious than scornful. "Does _she _know that I'm being held prisoner?"

Her lack of a reply is more than enough of an answer for him, and he lights up.

"Of _course _she doesn't. Tut-tut, Elsa. Keeping secrets, already?"

By the time her brows are knitting together, the snow queen grits her teeth. No longer will she stand by and _listen _to a man that nearly succeeded in her place on the throne.

"The only thing you'll be keeping is count of the days you spend in this cell if you don't start thinking about a way to make it up to me, and my people. And most importantly? To my sister."

She extends her hand, wrist snapping so gracefully that he almost has trouble noticing that she's sent a climbing layer of ice up two of the bars that cage him in.

Although his quick tongue is bound to get him into trouble, that doesn't stop him from a careful riposte.

"I'm afraid you'll be waiting far longer than I. You see, _any _proper gent knows that patience is a virtue."

"Is that what you want?" She's the picture of unmoving elegance – platinum blonde cascades down one shoulder, several loose strands about her face… impressive looks, no doubt. Anna may not have been anywhere near an eyesore, but Elsa's presence is something else entirely. "To die in here?"

He rises now; intrigued by the question she poses.

"Oh, _Elsa_." If his hands weren't bound, surely he'd extend one to brush her cheek with his thumb. "I'm already dead. In fact, I've been dead since the moment I was born."

When the queen blinks three times fast and lifts a slightly curled hand, Hans can't ignore his impulses: he'd like, quite a bit, to know what she's thinking. For one, because not even his patience can manage all that stands before him… and two, because the way that her eyelids peel back is morbidly exciting and he thinks he just might like the dark lashes that line them.

For lack of a better word, she's amusing – and if nothing else, then the next few years should be an entertaining back and forth between the two. Naturally, it would be far more exciting if she continues to keep it a secret, but Elsa is just as volatile as any blizzard and he knows better than to try anticipating her next move.

"That's the silliest thing I've ever heard."

Her dismissal prompts a duck of his head, a quiet chuckle following suit. "If you say so, Snow White."

"I beg your pardon?"

There's heat in her eyes that doesn't seem so cold from where he's standing, and he concludes she has a less-than-regal temper.

"You may beg, yes."

A flash of electric blue nearly blinds the perpetrator; several shards so close to his throat that he's pinned to the back wall. Chills dart up his spine and he clenches his jaw to keep from chattering – it seems too much like a sign of weakness: one thing he doesn't take kindly to exhibiting.

She thins her eyes and speaks matter-of-factly. "_You _may explain if you can contain those remarks."

"Even for a prisoner, don't you think this is a tad harsh?" There's no way to pry the ice from the soft flesh of his neck, and he presses against the wall as far as possible for a makeshift gap, though it isn't much. "Besides, there isn't much in it for me, now is there?"

"You've committed _treason_. As Queen of Arendelle, it is my duty to assure your punishment is carried out accordingly. Why _should _you get anything in return? You threatened what's left of my family, my happiness… Perhaps if you'd just open up a little, I could sympathize—though I doubt it."

This is easily the most he's heard her speak at once, and Hans has to fight off yet another grin. He doesn't get away with it, this time.

"I'm tempted to ask if you could, just this once, _pretend _that you're capable of human emotion, but I think that's just it. All you do is pretend! What could _possibly _be funny at a time like this?"

His reply is as honest as it gets. "When you ramble like that, you remind me of your sister."

Parted lips might have considered a gentler reply, but their unexpected turn is cut off by one of the guards. Elsa spins immediately, and Hans struggles to crane his neck in hopes of getting a better look.

"Your Majesty, the princess is looking for you. She says the matter is… urgent." The way the suited man's forehead creases, Hans doubts as much. The freckled girl could save a wounded butterfly, bring it home, have little to no idea how to care for it and call that an emergency.

Apparently, the only one in the room who finds the notion pressing is the queen, because she doesn't concern herself with glancing back in his direction. Instead, she follows the man up the stairs that lead to the rest of the world—a place he suspects won't be in his line of sight for quite some time.

"You're just going to leave this here?" If it were possible to gesture to the cluster of ice surrounding his throat, he would.

The wave of her hand is flippant, and there's no doubt in his mind that it's a small piece of what he'll be forced to deal with so long as he resides in this miserable cell.

"Oh, it'll thaw."

Maybe, just _maybe_, if he weren't so piqued by her lack of naiveté, there would be something artful (impressive, even) about being left in such raw temperatures with a dreadfully slow timer forced against his jugular.

* * *

**Dead? Why are you dead? **

**Anyways, I hope that was alright! More should be up soon - I don't think this one will be too long, but we'll see where it goes. As always, please leave a review and let me know how I'm doing!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Happy Valentine's Day, readers! I figured it'd be a good day to update.  
Thank you so much for all your kind words on the last chapter - I hope you feel the same after reading this one! **

* * *

Though he doesn't make a habit of looking back on times where he's been rendered defenseless, the ice crystals about his throat work as quite the catalyst. Rather than struggling against the restraints, Hans tries to concentrate. Panicking (unless when in the company of those who need a little bewitching) will get him nowhere.

Not in a jail cell, anyways.

He takes deeper, longer breaths and focuses on making sure to aim accordingly. Trying to melt the ice closest to his skin is no easy task—and heaving shoulders that follow greedy gulps of air will only make the rash form sooner. Worse things have happened, and a numb neck is the least of his worries. With little to no answers for the questions that put his sanity at risk, there's nothing to do but bide his time.

Attitude or not, he can't imagine why Elsa would make him wait until he can no longer bear it. With a sister like Anna in her life, there's no excuse for having a frozen heart.

* * *

"For a kingdom that prides itself on kindness and nobility, you sure like to take your time."

It's been four days since Elsa's last visit, and the lack of pride she has in her 'work' on his throat nearly startles him. Any guess as to why her painted mouth has yet to form a smirk escapes him almost immediately, and he wonders if she's always been such an enigma. Sitting upright to greet the blonde as formally as possible, Hans is faced with beams of sunlight from between the 'window's' bars. Despite the instinct to wince (for the most part, he's been in darkness for over a week now), he braves the glare and gauges her reaction with a wolfish grin.

She's toying with something beyond his peripheral. "I'm sorry, did you think you were worth the rush?"

With a click, the entrance is wide open and she steps right through it. As a prisoner, watching Elsa come and go at her leisure only fuels his desire to make a break for it. If it weren't for the iron tethering him to the ground, Hans doesn't think he'd mind the risk of her frigid wrath.

From where he sits, it's tough to tell which one of them is the cat, and which one of them is the mouse. Naturally, he'd like to think his place is a given, but he's chained down in a solitary dungeon. Whether or not he has a plan for escaping doesn't change his dearth of power.

There's a stack of towels slung over her arm and she wrings them with arched brows. Immediately, he assumes that her lack of pride is an accompaniment to something much bigger: Elsa is trying to appear void of _any _emotion. For a moment, she throws him off… and perhaps _that _alone is worth a little satisfaction, but he doesn't bother confessing.

"_Actually_, I figured there must have been a reason you kept me here… and if you wanted me to die of hypothermia, you would've finished the job long before now." He's having trouble adjusting to not gesturing so much with both hands, and the chains clang once before they fall back into his lap. "Your _highness_, if you would—"

She looks his way incredulously, taking a seat to his right and removing her gloves, one by one. Having imagined that she'd rid herself of them as soon as possible, his face contorts for a moment, grimace lopsided and eyes hazy.

"The last time we spoke, we were interrupted." It sounds more like a proposal than anything else, but he doesn't shift to face the queen.

Instead, Hans leans his head against the back wall and leaves his nose in the air. He feels most comfortable this way, as he is, and always will be _more _than the woman with his fate in her _unstable _palms.

Unfortunately, the only way he'll find the answers to _his _questions is to comply. "So we were." If she's expecting more than that, the ice queen has another thing coming. With power like hers, he doesn't understand the need for restraints. Of course, he's also terribly selfish and sifting through every other excuse in the book.

When he inhales, the air feels thin. He isn't suffocating—not yet, but trying to figure out which turn of events (in terms of Arendelle versus the Southern Isles) might be worse is asking for an outrage that Hans simply isn't ready for. The prince is many things, but he's a far cry from explosive. So he swallows in wait, because she might just respond well to something other than smugness. Then again, avoiding arrogance is difficult – all things considered, he still has a point to prove.

"Are you going to tell me why you're 'dead', or are we going to let these go to waste?"

She drives a hard bargain, but his eyes are hooded and the rest of his agenda is still hidden, no matter what they'd like to think. "Surely, we could start with what made you imprison me."

"You mean, aside from trying to kill me, and leaving my sister to die? Oh Prince _Hans_, what was I thinking? I'll call for the guards at once, and you'll be off by morning."

Perhaps he should watch whose toes he's stepping on, but the words slip out either way. "It's funny, I don't recall being the one to strike her through the heart," he chuckles darkly. "I _meant _why you didn't ship me off." Not having taken her for the sarcastic type, Hans wonders if it's a result of impatience or if he's merely learning about the different pieces of someone beyond complexity itself.

He hopes it's the latter, because the second he begins to _know _her, it'll be that much easier to find a weakness that he isn't already aware of. Anna will always be an option, but hearing her voice just might nudge him toward an edge too sharp for his own good. Of course, Hans knows better than to shed innocent blood without good reason, even if there is a time and place for everything.

It's Elsa who fights the oncoming wince this time, but he can smell just how _open _the wound is, even after the ordeal as a whole. What he _doesn't _predict is the quick glance she shoots her hands—the way delicate fingertips begin to glaze over before a deep breath steadies the regal girl. Yes, her sister loves her – and she, her sister, but there are no instantaneous recoveries. He of all people should know.

"Come _on_. Don't tell me you're still shoulders-deep in self-loathing." His words make her stand, expression firm and determined to find composure. "That would mean I'm in here for nothing."

Her arms shoot forward and he reclines with nonchalance, far less inclined to jump at sudden movements than the monarch. Hans makes an effort to earn her eyes, but she's working (perhaps fumbling is a better word—she's never touched buttons quite like these ones) with his collar until the irritated flesh is exposed.

With the memory of countless aunts and older cousins from every other side of the family charging forward to pinch his cheeks (and almost immediately afterwards, turning away to discuss anything and everything important with his older siblings) still fresh in his mind, Hans doesn't jolt, though it's more than enough context for him to bob his head with a smile.

"Queen _Elsa_, if this is what these visits are coming to…"

She shoves the damp towel forward, and it's just the right temperature against his skin. The disruption triggers a sigh of relief if nothing else, so if her goal was to shut him up, it follows through well enough.

"Would you stop talking? _Please_." From the tone of her voice, he guesses that she's not only a) still in a hailstorm of concern for her self-control, but also b) unaccustomed to this kind of close proximity.

He tilts his head to assure that the towel doesn't plop into his lap; a small courtesy he assumes Elsa will appreciate. "Of course, your majesty. Quiet is what I do best."

Any more of those dubious looks, and he's almost positive that her face will get stuck like that. "One of many lies you tell, I'm sure." It's no use being taken aback by her bluntness – evidently; the queen finds no fault in holding a grudge. Still, she pauses before speaking. "Why would I let you leave? So you could just as easily do the same thing to some other unsuspecting kingdom? I'd never forgive myself."

"It seems like there's a lot you haven't forgiven yourself for," comes his reply, lacking any and all hesitance. "Which brings me to my next point – is there a reason you're still wearing those gloves?"

When she turns away from him to look at her hands, he stands out of sheer impulse. The pretense builds— something akin to worry muting deep green eyes. His transitions are smooth, if at all noticeable, but even Hans thinks it's probably best to hold off. If he tries to 'change' immediately, she'll best him by assuming the worst. However belatedly, the idea has him reverting to casual apathy. For now, he'll act natural. He'll be cool, calm and collected until the time is right.

As soon as the clock of her suspicions ceases to tick, he'll 'break down', 'open up', and exploit the queen for every sympathetic bone in her body.

"I didn't come all the way down here for you to change the subject, Hans. Have you no regard for the rest of your life?"

He starts the process a little early. "I do, it's just..." His voice cracks; it's all very purposeful and hard to see through, but the stage he builds for himself comes crashing down when they're interrupted for a second time. Of course, frustration doesn't put a dent in his guise, but his blood is boiling before he knows it and enjoying the soothing nature of a towel wrapped around his neck only gets harder with each passing minute.

Even so, the guard clears his throat. "Queen Elsa?"

"Not now, we need a bit more time." Hans almost has to stifle a smirk at her dismissal – either his act is working, or she's about to condemn him for trying so soon with icicles sharper than the sword that came _oh_ so close to beheading her.

Nervousness clutters the sentinel's next statement, probably due to the fact that a prisoner is still within earshot. "It's Corstorphine – they've sent another letter. The ambassador, he still wishes to 'investigate' on the rumors."

Elsa is forced to collect herself, and in the meantime, Hans can't help but ask.

"The kingdom west of Arendelle? What is it they want?"

Something is _definitely _under her skin – if it weren't, he doubts she'd blurt the answer out so soon. "My powers. _Weaseltown _must have spread the word, because Corstorphine is going to war and they want to assure that we're still on their side. More importantly, they want to use my… powers. What am I supposed to do? We haven't seen war in _years_!"

"Your highness," warns the nameless guard, palm open when he extends an arm of caution. He's smart to slow her down, but it's far too late. The scheme is already rising from the ashes, and Hans takes his seat once more, doing his best to hold the towel in place.

His eyes are gently shut, one brow quirked as if he can't believe she didn't already come up with such a simple answer. "Lie. Problem solved."

"It's none of your business!" She's under duress, and it's rolling off of the queen in waves. Cracking an eye open, he scans the blonde with ease—she's not so frightening like this. While there's nothing particularly _scary _about Elsa, her powers are commanding and when she gives life to them, the prince knows better than to stand in the way. As does the guard, because he uses this time to leave before it gets any more heated.

Reflecting on it reminds him of his brothers, and nothing makes his temper flare more than the thought of those self-righteous, selfish, _moronic _halfwits. As if she can sense the decline in his manner, a hand falls to her hip. "What good would it do me to lie? To follow in your footsteps and wind up like _you? _Please! I'd _love _to know how that would solve our problem._"_

"Oh, we're not so different." Assuming she, too, lacks a number of things that make for a stable personality, it's painless to admit. Still, it'll probably hit her harder than it would him.

To be frank, he thinks now would be an excellent time to wipe something off of the fabric on his knee. Unfortunately, his restraints prevent any minute, comfortable movements from taking place. "For starters," he doesn't sound overbearing, but there's more experience than she'd like to hear in his lilt of his voice and when Elsa tenses, that only becomes clearer. "It could get rid of the issue entirely. No powers, no need to involve yourself in the battle. Tell them you aren't feeling well and don't have the energy to trouble your kingdom with any further conflicts."

"And if they ask to speak to the council?" She seems to believe that these words are game changers.

Hans doesn't bite. "Question. Have you ever heard of declining?"

"They'll call it unnecessary hostility!" This is a whole new world for her, as the late king left _far _before his time. Perhaps not in Hans' case, but Elsa's composure seems to be wearing thin.

When he rises to speak, the towel falls to the floor with a quiet _plop_. Their eyes both fall to it immediately, but Elsa makes the first move. The towel drips dribbles in her pale hands, and the relapse occurs in seconds. As the edges ice over, he watches the snow queen's eyes shut tight, wishing the world away for just a second's time.

Perhaps she's stronger than she looks, because it defrosts at a similar pace.

Why she's deteriorating, he can only guess has something to do with the secret (perhaps more than one?) that Anna remains blissfully unaware of, but it's not something he can bring up just yet.

Luckily, there's still patience under his belt. "That's a neat trick." He observes, keeping her gaze. Despite the imbalance in Elsa's abilities, there isn't a brittle thing about her. Strictly speaking, she's chock-full of grit, and that's precisely why he's forced to delve further. "Now, you can hide _all_ your messes."

"If you think I'll hesitate to turn you into an ice sculpture, don't."

The grin that taunts his mouth is irresistible – this next remark, Hans knows is terrible, but he just _can't_ stop. "Like Anna? You might as well make it a collection. Otherwise, it seems a little amateur."

"_Enough_!" Twisting the cloth over his head, Elsa storms off as soon as dark, red hair is sticking to both sides of his face. Despite how amusing she is to irritate, he realizes that the time for ridicule is over.

His tone isn't _entirely _different, but it certainly resembles the one used when speaking to people like Anna… to people that he has plans on _using_. "Queen Elsa, wait—"

From the looks of Elsa's furrowed brows, it wouldn't be hard to persuade her to take his hair in her hand and slam his skull against the wall. "You're a _prisoner_. You have no right to make requests like that." She doesn't yield to the fanning flames of aggravation, and Hans thinks the two of them have that in common. Most would take any opportunity they could to harm those that infuriate them, but she has enough control to do the opposite.

"I'm not going to take your advice, and I'm _certainly _not going to 'wait' for any other masks you'd like to show off."

It's strange—watching her leave again.

He's seen this scene a thousand times before, only there are different, larger frames and darker shades of hair. Only now, no one is telling him that he'll never have his turn on the throne.

_Now_, it's a consequence, and trying to guess when the next time she'll return invokes a sharp pain at the back of his head. One nearly inaudible groan later, he comes to terms with just how _cold _of an evening it's going to be. What, with all that wet hair and a damp throat?

Not to mention, oddly enough, how it's no one's fault but his.

* * *

**I'm a little shaky on how I feel about my writing in this chapter. Hopefully not _too _much UST, hahaha. By now, you can probably tell that this story is third person limited, adhering to Hans' perspective. I think this is because of how much I absolutely adore him, as you can probably see! I hope I captured him as well as you guys said I did in the previous chapter... Elsa's a little shaky for me, but I'd like you to see her the way Hans is seeing her. Does that make sense? There aren't as many answers in regards to her thoughts or emotions because he doesn't know them yet, and this is sort of a fic revolving around that development. Anyhow, this is a really long winded little note. **

**What I wanted to say is thank you so much for all of the follows and comments, I didn't think so many people would be interested in following along! There's so much I have planned for this story, and I can't wait to actually put it all into words. In any case, _please_ please please let me know what you think. Reviews make my day! **

**And how about those buttons, huh? **


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm afraid the letter isn't going to change the longer you look at it, y-your highness."

Prying her eyes away from the sheet of paper seems impossible at this point. Genuinely, she's at a loss, and there's only one way to change the fate that keeps threatening to snap at her heels.

With a hellhound's jaws, her imposing doom comes in the form of a neighboring kingdom with intentions no more innocent than a lion's in the presence of its meal. Corstorphine is a vast, magnificent land that she's wished to visit for years – but as ruler, seeing it as anything but a bloodbath is out of the question.

Black ink bleeds through barely legible scrawl and pinpointing one statement above all takes seconds at the most.

_We request to see the Queen's power for ourselves.  
__With our enemies growing stronger, we can only hope to survive hand in hand._

It's a miracle that the edges have yet to ice over. More than likely, the gloves are to thank for that.

"How can they ask this of me?" Her voice doesn't quiver, but there's a pause before Elsa speaks again. "What do they think I am? A_ witch_? Or a weapon?"

Across from the snow queen sits the head of her royal council, Finn. His thumbs chafe one another, spindly fingers twined in hopes of finding words that sound quite like condolences in his mind. Arendelle's late king was a patient and generous ruler - one that didn't mind a subpar court. This, as unfortunate as it may be, leaves Elsa without the assistance of an advisor who can do more than hope she doesn't lose her patience.

And hope he does. "Surely it's just a suggestion. They can't possibly mean that the boats will arrive in a little over a month..."

"Finn," she murmurs, mind scattered. "They asked that we prepare a room in case of emergency. Whether or not they stay for longer than one evening, the ambassador _will_ come."

Ridding himself of an itch at his temple, the gangling man rises to give the letter another look. The words fall from his tongue like news of an oncoming curse... though if one were to ask Elsa, she might call Corstorphine's visit exactly that. "'Your worries are needless, we merely ask for your defense if need be. Do not take this as a request for your participation or sacrifice.'"

"You see?" However briefly, her head falls in hands that feel so much _frailer _than they might have a little under a week ago.

Oddly enough, she can't find it in herself to think of the icy tundra that stood as both sweet release and a fate worse than death. If there's one thing that she's learned since then, it's that loneliness is a potent disease.

Thinking that she'd been protecting Anna by detaching herself, she merely reflected all her pain. Rather than being able to grow up together, both siblings were forced to suffer in solitude.

The fractured memories make her insides churn. "I've yet to rule for an entire month, and I can't even manage the possibility of war?" Of course, the question is hypothetical and she hardly has interest (if any at all) in the hook-nosed man's reply. One thing she's already come to terms with is how little practical advice Finn might offer. Despite his tendency to speak softly - one thing most opinionated members of the council lack - there isn't much he can do.

Even less in this scenario, but saying so will only isolate her further.

Still, his hand doesn't feel as comforting as it should on her shoulder. How can it, when she already knows what he's about to say?

"If I may, perhaps you should contact someone with a bit more expertise on the subject. I'm not so sure it will turn it well for the rest of Arendelle if the ambassador comes and we are unprepared. From what I've heard, they're a very... assertive people."

Despite how thin the single sheet is, it weighs on her hands like a brick. "And do what? Trust _him_?" So much as the thought of the look on his face has her stomach lurching forward. She can hardly remember what was on her breakfast plate, but that hardly means she'd like to find out. Not now. "Anna would never forgive me."

The concept is already ingrained in her mind, even if the idea of Anna harboring a grudge is difficult to imagine. Frankly, the blonde just has a hard time giving herself any breathing room.

After years of what _Hans_ had called self-loathing, she can barely slip up without apologizing three to four times, consecutively.

"If I go to him, I'd _have_ to tell her... before this—" Opening each palm in her lap, she eyes them with disdain. Yes, the snow is beautiful, and _yes_, love thaws, but secrets are fatal and she's locking safes that never existed in the first place. "—Gets any worse. She's so happy, Finn! Haven't you seen?"

It sounds like she's pleading, so he stammers his way through a reply. "A-ah, I have, but surely..."

"I couldn't just ruin it! She deserves happiness."

Kristoff might be just as much of a stranger as Hans had been, but considering the risks he was willing to take in Anna's name, it's hard to think of him as one. Around her sister (as far as she's seen), the man's expressions are soft, gentle... he seems like a reality that she herself has yet to touch. Perhaps even one that she could never manage to - the fear of freezing it would be too much.

Despite this, it goes without saying that Elsa doesn't feel like something is missing without the love of a man. There aren't extended moments of longing when weddings take place where she yearns for a bouquet of her own. Truth be told, she's happy for those that share romance with one another.

For Elsa, she's simply lived too long without the company of her little sister; and even now, it feels like deprivation.

Her younger sister's smile is enough to keep her from descending, but right now, the undertow has a pull much stronger than usual. The waves are choppy and she's drowning, but her lungs are too constricted to fight anymore. One shaky breath and a half later, she breaks away from unease with dilating pupils to notice that Finn's lips are moving.

She speaks against her better judgment. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I _said,_ and you don't?"

Rising from her place and leaving the room seems preferable at this point, but the crown on her head is a reminder that running is no longer an option. No storms, no tantrums, no excuses... it's an exhausting cycle.

More than anything, she wants to change. She wants to get a grip (without having to deal with any iron fists on the way there), to evolve without having to waste years of everyone else's time.

Responding to his question is proving to be more of a challenge than balancing an encyclopedia over her head. While one might've thought Anna would have a harder time, it was Elsa who couldn't manage to keep the wobbly book in place.

Whether that has something to do with her reluctance towards ease or an overall lack of balance, she can't be bothered to figure out. Even now, it takes three to four tries before the blonde can steady herself. It's thanks to sheer luck that the skill is so trivial; otherwise she'd have a run for her money.

Really, she doesn't have an answer. Not one that is both truthful _and_ something that he wants to hear, at least. The most she can do is look at the hands that have caused so much wreckage and let them fall into her lap, lightly brushing over one another. The lump in her throat is going to wind up doing serious damage if she doesn't speak up, but nothing will come out right- not even after meeting Finn's gaze with an attempt at something solid of her own.

It must be too much for the both of them, because he nods once and takes his leave.

_Perhaps Hans was wrong_, she thinks. _I'm not just shoulders-deep... I'm _way_ in over my head._

* * *

If she gives him the chance to speak, the prisoner's words will only sever her patience. There's no time for that.

"So much as one 'I told you so', and I'll no longer grant you the privilege of a cell." Elsa's eyes harden somewhere in the midst of her warning, assuring Hans that any and all mistakes will be costly.

For him, it doesn't take more than a glance to assess the mood she's in. Firstly, something he's said in the past was correct, and secondly, she doesn't want to hear about it. Of course, this is another scene that he's witnessed countless times before. His brothers?

Well, they're always wrong - and not one of them likes being called on it.

He responds promptly, stifling an arrogant quirk of his brow. "What is it?"

"The ambassador," folding one hand over a closed fist, the monarch points her toe to the ground. Believe it or not, fighting the urge to pace is making the back of her neck warm. "He's coming. In just a little over a month's time, they'll know. Each and every one of them."

Already, Hans can feel the chains loosening. "I'll go ahead and assume that you're not exactly under control?" There's no need to answer any questions about why she's still even in possession of those snug, ornate gloves... he knows better than to pester with truths that are self-evident.

"If you would refrain, I'd like to make an offer _far_ too generous for my comfort zone."

Sitting up straighter now, he tilts his head. Like he doesn't see it coming, Hans leaves his chin at an incline and realizes that it's time for the 'act' to be set in stone. No longer are there opportunities for going backwards.

Abandoning the low blows might take some time, but that's all right. He's almost positive that getting rid of an initially clipped attitude will only give her unnecessary hints as to what might be running through his mind.

Prompted to move forward by his silence, she releases of a long puff of air. "I need your help."

"It would appear so," with a roll of his shoulders, he scoots forward, eyes flashing with glee that might look manic if it weren't for immaculate composure.

Her offer is about to come into the clear, and he wants to drink it in with a smile. "If you can create a diversion or help the council devise a plan to get things under control before the ambassador arrives, I'd be... happy to provide more comfortable living arrangements for you. In the mean time, at least."

Yes, it's strained— her lips pull back over her teeth between words and her body is tense... but it's better than nothing. Security aside, the sooner he can get rid of the chains about his limbs, the better.

As if it sounds too good to be true, the traitor leans forward to snag a closer view of the queen's mien.

"And after that?"

There's that look again. The way her eyes go wide has a smirk tugging at his mouth, but Hans doesn't yield. The icy blonde is animated in such a melancholy manner. Sometimes, her lips tremble and sometimes her fists clamp shut. And when he's lucky, he catches the wrinkling of her nose before she blinks. She's a complicated woman - but it doesn't take his analytic talents to figure that much out.

Frankly, he's just glad it's Elsa who sneaks away to entrust him with such a grave endeavor. If it were Anna, lying smoothly would be _far_ less engaging.

In his book, 'too easy' is a synonym for 'no fun at all'.

Elsa's suspicions help him build short-term goals to work towards, to say the very least. Take now, for example. "I won't let you tear apart any other kingdoms."

Then again, too much of a challenge is just plain irritating. With an itchy throat and air so cold it has the potential to turn his bones brittle, his fuse is only getting shorter and shorter.

"Now, now. _That_ doesn't sound like a deal..."

With a harsh flick, the blonde's wrist falls to her side, the fabric of her sleeve draping below. To put it loosely, getting a rise out of Elsa is a simple joy he'd like nothing more than to preserve for himself.

Why?

Because he's selfish - and even rights like these feel like they belong to him. On the other hand, it's _her_ ice that dried the flesh of his neck, and it should be _his_ words that haunt her.

Despite his attempt to conjure her temper, the queen doesn't falter. "Take it or leave it. You can try to bargain all you'd like, but this is my final offer."

At this, he rises, striding toward the bars that separate them, but only meeting her halfway. Motioning for her to measure up with a jerk of his head, he can feel the gentler smile ghost along the line of his dry mouth. In all honesty, he's pale, he's dehydrated, and he's all too prepared to get the ball rolling. The moment he steps out of this cellar, the castle is only three steps away from falling into his palms- and if not this one, then another.

If he needs to bring down Arendelle's queen by sabotage to earn his place as a king, so be it.

He chuckles aloud, daydreaming of one hand over her throat and the other taking the crown off her head. Surely if his hands were free, he'd gesture again... but all he can do is shoot her another expectant look, to which she blinks three times fast.

"Come here, Elsa."

It's the first time he's said her name so plainly, and she flinches. "I b-" _absolutely not_ – there was no way she'd give him another _single_ opportunity to make an innuendo. "Excuse me?"

"Show me your hands," she's far from effortless, and he's yet to decide on whether or not he appreciates that fact.

Fully aware of how easily she could protect herself from a fatigued prisoner, Elsa clears the way with a press of a button, and closes a bit of distance between them. Just a little... otherwise he's sure to get a strange idea or two, and that's the _last_ thing she wants to happen.

"And why would I do that?"

Snickering, Hans gives a quick shake of his head. "Because you won't _need_ those gloves when everything is set in stone." He says it simply, like she's already told Anna - even though they both know that's the farthest thing from the truth. Regardless, that doesn't make his words any less reassuring. Perhaps if they weren't coming from him, she'd believe them. "No need to hide when no one is looking for you."

It's all so vague and tough to decipher, but it sounds like he's already mapped it all out— and that's more than she can say.

The former prince's inability to meet her eyes is a series of resonating alarm bells in itself, but his voice is so rich in timbre that if she were to doubt him, it would feel like a flaw in her reign.

"There are guards along the staircase, in case you were thinking about running." She warns him with a glance from her peripheral, turning without delay. After all, wasting time will only leave them alone for longer. Besides, more minutes spent with Hans only means more opportunities for him to worm his way under her skin.

He lifts a hand to his chest, feigning offense. "Me? I'd _never_."

Finding him to be a lost cause, Elsa starts up the staircase and keeps both arms folded close to her – if his hands were free, he'd trail along the railings and ask why she wasn't doing the same.

* * *

The locks come undone without a sound, and she sets the shackles aside. Time is working in her favor, as the moment she turns away to do so, the ice queen has to take a breath to keep from coming undone with such reluctance.

"Please don't let this be as big of a mistake as I think it is."

With his hands freed, calloused and balmy, Hans lets his palm run over the edge of the mattress and fights the urge to plop back into the soft sheets. Already, he imagines what Arendelle's _finest _quarters would feel like – already, he imagines how they might wake him on the day of _his _coronation. Voicing neither fantasy, the battered prince lets his eyes fall away from her.

Even with the act he puts on, her edges have yet to soften and she locks his door from outside. A more comfortable prison, perhaps, but a prison nonetheless.

In seconds, the sullen look on his face dulls and he counts a few loose threads, plucking strings between the gaps of his fingers.

Silence cracks with the help of a grating, all too familiar voice. "Elsa! I was looking for you!" It's Anna, and from the way his ears prick up, the queen can't have made it very far before being caught by her sibling. At the most, they're a few yards away from his door… and he knows better than to scheme against Elsa just yet—if she doesn't want Anna to know of his whereabouts just yet, he'll follow along to the best of his ability.

As his ear presses up against the wood, he straightens inaudibly.

"I'm glad you found me!" Her tone is so _different_ – the pure joy that must accompany harboring actual love for one's own blood. "What is it, Anna?"

His eyes narrow at the quiet thump – Anna must be walking her sister backwards, because they're already closer to the door. "I couldn't find you _anywhere_! I mean, I checked the kitchen, your bedroom, the hallways… so I figured you've _gotta _be up to something big. Maybe I'm wrong. Am I right?"

Oh, it's Anna, all right. The image is already fogging up his mind – her curling grin, the gleam that consumes like a fragrance wherever she goes… to him, it's incredibly frustrating. Of course, that could very well have something to do with the ache in his nose that reminds Hans of her knuckles. After all, if she knew how to put her aesthetics to good use, they'd probably be charming.

Luckily for him, that isn't the case. Even so, the following silence leads him to believe that Elsa is struggling for a reply. His lips part quite like they're communicating telepathically, eyes thinning as though he can't _believe _she isn't responding in a timely manner to the hints he's actually trying to send her way.

"Don't be silly… I've already told you. No more secrets, remember?"

Evidently, the seriousness of their topic is different on both ends. They're on different wavelengths, per usual, and the lack of symmetry seeps in from underneath the door.

The younger girl hums, dubiousness coating her tone. "Are you _sure_?" For Anna, it's a scavenger hunt. For Elsa, her dearest sister's trust is on the line.

It's a miracle that the air between them hasn't grown thick enough to impair their lungs.

"I should hope you're not doubting me _already_," the quietude has Hans' eyes rolling back into his head – in this case, her sister's optimism is a blessing in disguise. Were it not for her inability to think critically in the moment, Elsa would be in for something else entirely.

He backpedals, anticipating Anna's next move just in time. Her arms fling forward, palms pushing just hard enough to send the door flying, and Hans pivoting behind it.

The door only hides about half of his figure, but the princess' attention is on the opposite end of the room. "So you won't mind if… _search _the place?"

"Why would I?"

Holding his breath, he's fairly sure he can hear Elsa's teeth chattering through her reply.

As Anna darts toward the private restroom, he slides into the closet and leans as far into the right as he possibly can. The frame of the door has just a few inches on his torso, so if she were to glance from the middle of the room, spotting him would be unlikely.

While he'd like to see Elsa's frantic expression, the risk of turning to check is far too massive. "You know, you're really starting to make me think you're hiding a _horse _or something in here!" Chuckling, Anna tiptoes toward a smaller wardrobe before the loud creak suggests that he make a break for it.

"That's ridiculous," As her sister crouches down and looks in nooks and crannies quite unnecessarily, Elsa's petrified eyes find Hans from a glance over her shoulder. With a finger to his mouth, he smirks and slides beneath the mattress like it's a competition… or an art form.

By the time Anna turns back to consider the closet, a hand on each hip and a weary expression, he's nowhere in sight.

She shoves her sister's shoulder, and Elsa laughs weakly. "Oh, you know I'm only playing. Finn said you two would be busy today, so I thought… now that you're done, maybe we could make some ice cream?"

If he had the space to, Hans would rest a cheek in his palm. 'Unimpressed' doesn't come close.

"Of course, Anna… Now, come on!"

He doesn't plan on holding out for a 'thank you' of any sort, but it's a job well done on his end. Any points to tally on things that just might give her reason to trust him, he'll take without hesitance. More than likely, Elsa doesn't get the chance to lock his door (as surely, even Anna would deduce that it was a senseless to lock a door with nothing inside)… but just this once, he'll stay put. There _are _guards around, and he'd like the queen to give him the benefit of the doubt at some point in time.

Eventually, he'll be able to say that he's only been looking out for her best interests— namely that he didn't 'rat her out' when the ice beneath their feet began to crack.

For now, however, the most he can do is find his way back to the bed's surface and sprawl. With conditions like these, there's no way to tell just when his life will, once more, spiral into havoc.

Despite this, he's glad that Elsa's lying to her sister. It drives a rift between the two of them, and if it's for his sake, then he can wedge himself right in the middle. Not only that, but if the queen pushes into herself, _surely _he can convince her to get in touch with those… abilities of hers.

While it might not be much, it's a backup plan. If the chance to escape doesn't come as soon as he'd like it to, he'll throttle the snow queen's confidence until it's nothing but shards of impenetrable blue.

He's good at taking things apart, if one thing is for certain. _This _job, luckily for him, is already halfway done – Elsa's still in measly pieces. At the most, all she'll need is a little nudge and the icy fortress will regenerate in no time.

Arm lifting above him, the tendons in his hand are exposed when he grabs the air with a clench. All it takes is one swipe, and Hans watches his knuckles with determination. He'll be the usurper… and he'll do whatever it takes.

If he doesn't find the chance to escape, he'll force the girl right out of her brain.

After all, who in their right mind could _possibly_ trust a mad queen?

* * *

**Holy jeez, I had no idea I'd get so many followers... nor did I know that this chapter would end up around 4k words. Sorry about that - I got the ending idea sort of last minute and got carried away. It sort of felt like one of those ten minute sequences in a TV show where you're hoping they don't get caught, maybe that was the romcom side of me throwing in some comic relief. Plus, Hans wants to get on Elsa's good side, as you can see. **

**I finally got in touch with Elsa's insecurities - hopefully they don't get too much worse, as she's a total queen who doesn't deserve them. :^(  
Anyhow, almost everything is plotted out as of now, I'd like to thank AJ (soliloquye - who's working on a helsa fic as we speak that is _beyond _incredible) for being grand and being an outlet for me to talk about my favorite conniving prince. **

**And thank you, to everyone who has bothered to check this out and keep up! Reviews would really be appreciated, comments, questions, constructive criticisms and concerns are always welcome! Or even just a note about how you think Hans' sideburns really need a touch up. Not that they do... 'cause they're perfect. But uh, I'm rambling again! Thanks again for everything, you guys! I wouldn't be this inspired without you!**


	4. Chapter 4

_The fountains come undone for seconds at most, their centerpieces fracturing down the middle and giving rise to thunderous sounds. As the fissures make their way down each structure, marble collapses into a pile of what once stood as lavish examples of Arendelle's architecture._

_Other than Ragnarok, she can't think of any other probable explanation as to what just might be happening._

_To say the least, everything is in shambles... and the queen herself is forced to watch as it all goes up in flames._

_Literally._

_Her feet are planted between the gates that she opened no less than a week ago, knees threatening to buckle, eyelids trembling and hoping to come away from such a wretched scene. Booming, the pillars on each side of her begin to quake; succumbing to a surge of power from nowhere in particular and making the ground ripple as they fall._

_Much like them, Elsa wants to sink to her knees, but as the sheet of flame rises, there's nothing she can do. Mustering any and all leftover strength, the snow queen shifts and shuts the doors behind her with two powerful gusts from what could only be called a blizzard on a modest day._

_Not even the relief that washes over the blonde in the name of her castle is enough to conquer what's revealed on a platform perhaps thirty feet away._

_Anna's cry is a death rattle, and the monarch's blood runs cold without a second to spare. "Elsa!"_

_Oddly enough, the seconds don't pass like beats. Rather, they have individual personalities of their very own. One is the initiative – an introductory, ticking clock with razor teeth and impulses that rival a starved animal's. Two is the reluctance – it passes in slow motion and has the queen nearly believing that time isn't hurdling past her whatsoever. Three is an illusion, simply due to the fact that Elsa is making a nasty habit of holding her breath and each of her lungs has a particular punishment planned out._

_Chest shuddering, her eyes dart from one side of the gallows to the other. Why the wooden platform has yet to be engulfed in flames, she has no idea. Of course, there's no way to say the same for Arendelle as a whole._

_As a matter of fact, her makeshift barrier is melting away and the inferno has already begun to lick at the gates, making its way toward the castle. Despite this, her soft-eyed, freckled priority faces being lynched and there are no second thoughts when Elsa dives headfirst into the fray._

_Her attention is nowhere near it, but in little to no time at all, the sky turns to ash and smoke._

_Currents brimming with angry eyes surround her slight frame, all four corners of the earth glowering over every one of her possible moves. More than anything, she wants answers – why on _earth_ are there large men with dull blades to Anna's neck—and Kristoff's, too – but asking for them only complicates things._

_That much, she can already tell._

_"Let them go!_ Please!_" Knowing all too well that they must have limited patience, Elsa pleas over the crowd, pushing forward as quickly as possible without resorting to the use of magic._

_Sure, most people from Arendelle are well aware of her powers, but adjusting to not using them is for the best. For the time being, she might as well adapt sooner than later._

_No one budges, not even after her request. The faces of any nearby citizens flush of all color at the mere sight of her, and not even Elsa can resist the feeling of unease. Much like she's breaking the walls of a labyrinth, the ice queen forces two hands forward before clearing the path. Fortunately, no one is injured or gets in the way, but daring to look at the sharp ends that form at her will, right around the gallows' edges, will leave the taste of bile on her tongue._

_It goes without saying that she's already nauseated – what good will any more pushing do?_

_"You see?" Her panic is briskly interrupted by a familiar voice, and she turns to see her former prisoner starting up the stairs to the main platform. "These traitors were going to _lie_ for their queen."_

_Hans' voice is unwavering, and it echoes just enough to make her ears ring._

_She spins, arms coiling closer to her body, and locks eyes with the ambassador of Corstorphine. His pupils are dilated and his mouth curls wildly— from the look on his face, Elsa can only guess that he's already devising plans for her imprisonment; or _worse_, maybe they'll display her in a cage for a traveling circus to pick up at their own risk. Without her cooperation, they'll eat her alive… she already knows this much._

_The second time she gets a glimpse of Hans through her blurring vision, one solid blink reveals that he's adorned in a suit much like her father's. "I never should have trusted you!"_

_At this, he only smirks; his head jerking to the left as a signal only the guards seem to understand. The man holding Anna releases her, but Kristoff is yanked backwards and Elsa loses sight of him in no time._

_She's concerned for his well being, of course, but now that Anna is paralyzed by fear before all of Arendelle (who, for the most part, are standing eerily still and lacking the commotion's support that would likely help her in a multitude of ways) and Hans is closing in on her, the ice merchant is the least of her worries._

_His easy strides make her head swim, but when a gloved hand comes in contact with the hilt of a sword strapped to his side, Elsa can't—no, _won't_ waste any time._

_"_Stop_, they have nothing to do with this!" No longer does she think about impressing any other kingdoms. With her sister's life on the line, her immediate reaction is to send a bolt of ice in the form of a dagger to get Hans out of the way. In seconds, her palm opens and prepares to cut through diamonds with all the force she can muster up… but for the first time, her magic is obstructed._

_Instinctively, she tries again, desperation etching along ghostlike, pale features. Her efforts are fruitless, and almost pitifully, Hans looks to the queen with macabre fascination._

_In these seconds, Anna backtracks in an attempt to break free, but the traitor interrupts with ease. He unsheathes his sword just in time to extend it out behind her, centimeters away from the fabric of her dress._

_"Just a warning, princess." Bearing the grin of a serpent, he thins his eyes and basks in the hatred that flickers through hers. "You try that again, and I won't just take your head."_

_Not bothering to take the stairs when he makes his way over to the petrified queen, he drops nimbly from the platform and doesn't bat an eye when she tries striking him, three or four times in succession. Not a single swing is met with the power she's feared for countless years—when she needs it most, it fails her. She only wishes she were more surprised._

_There's no need to have his sword out when it comes to patronizing her, so Hans tucks it away and looks down on the queen once more. "You should've expected all that_ love_ in your heart to thaw a little too comfortably. Now, look – there's no time to save your precious, little sister."_

_Forcing her palms onto his chest in hopes of sending chills down his spine and ice through his heart, Elsa pounds both hands on the fabric he's so clearly stolen. Forming fists, she tries once more, but to no avail._

_Hearing the chuckle he just can't _help_ but let out makes her feel all the more helpless. "What's wrong, Elsa?"_

_It's no surprise that she doesn't reply, eyes downcast as they well up with tears._

"Oh, _Elsa_!"

* * *

Her name is repeated twice before she realizes that the one calling her name is not a bloodthirsty prince – instead, it's the finicky head of her council.

Knocking repeatedly at her door, Finn is a blessing in disguise, and she wipes a bit of cold sweat away from the back of her neck.

Nightmares often haunt her, but horrors to this extent are entirely new. Usually, they only last until the middle of the night, but a glance to the window on her left proves that it's not much later than six in the morning. Still, her nerves prompt her to get up before any other terrifying visions have the chance to strike.

A hand runs through mussed hair before she gets the door.

"Y-you told me to make sure you were awake a few hours before the princess." It sounds far more like a question than a statement—a fact that can be easily attributed to the dark circles beneath her eyes.

She tries to compose herself enough for a small smile, but it doesn't feel right. "I did… A moment, please?"

As requested, Finn takes his leave at full tilt. Truth be told, there are countless things that she appreciates about the older man. None of those things are in regards to his job, though, but that's merely come to be a fact of life. She's accepted this much.

After her nightmare, Elsa fears the sight of his face just might set her off. A hallucination triggered by paranoia doesn't excuse an influx of suspicion. All things considered, there was probably too much of it to begin with!

But she doesn't feel bad. She can't afford to sympathize with a man that has so much potential when it comes to—not only pulling the crown right off her head, but also being sure to pull it downwards and strangle her with it. Even then, he wouldn't do _one _of those things before making her watch Anna suffer.

While he's still a prisoner and there's no need to fix her hair or settle into a brand new gown, she can't exactly make her way into his chambers with nothing other than a snug, lace nightie. After his comment about begging?

_Please!_ He doesn't deserve the opportunity.

All right, so she might be a little spiteful. Seeing a projection of someone nearly kill the one that you love most could do that to a person – particularly one that's significantly less stable than the rest. Whether or not there's an excuse for her train of thought, Elsa can't find it in herself to care. Perhaps there _are _a few perks that come along with being queen. Her biases might not exist beyond the realm of Hans, but those that do would, by far, be excused by any and all that dared to question her.

The robe is warm around her shoulders, and she lets a sigh loose before starting down the hall.

She wishes all the leftover worry would leave her, already. _What if Anna wakes up?_

Or worse. _What if Anna finds him?_

With her luck, they're already at each other's necks.

Knocking is a natural instinct for the blonde, but recalling the fact that Hans can't get the door from his side (on the off chance that he _is _currently awake) has limber arms back at her sides.

Riveting her key in the tiny slot, Elsa's eyes widen when she finds him by three, dimly lit candles at the desk by a window. The curtains are pinned up towards the upper left corner, and he's hunching forward, working quite zealously for a man who has just left a prison cell.

At most, he spares her a glance over his shoulder. "I took the liberty of fabricating a rough draft or two." Likely, just to make sure that it's the queen he's speaking to and not an intruder. Immediately afterwards, he's back with the steel point pen, dipping it in ink before crossing a_ t_ and pursing his lips. "They're letters for each and every household – if the ambassador arrives in a month, we'll need to work fast."

Though it doesn't seem so, she's grateful for how quickly he gets things done.

"The only way to weed out anyone that even _considers _posing a threat is by getting them all together." His tone changes when he talks about the masses, but she's not conscious enough to tell whether it gets softer or sharper. "I imagine a public assembly would suffice."

Elsa swallows and tents her fingers, stealing a glance over his shoulder and skimming what she can see of the paper with one corner underneath his elbow. "Did you even bother to sleep?"

"There was no time," he lies – at the least, he slept six hours. It's not as though coming up with letters for gathering people in one place take longer than twenty or so minutes. Still, veiling himself in diligence will only make her fonder. At least, that's what he concludes. "If you want any of this to go according to plan, we're to work with a sense of urgency."

He jots a few words down, none of which are legible from where she's situated. Getting too close will make her even tenser – if that is at all possible.

Unfortunately, the question makes her skin itch and she's too tired to push it back any longer. "Why did you hide from Anna?"

As if she's _already _gone mad, Hans lets the pen rest for a moment and figures it's his turn to give an incredulous look. "Have you informed the princess of my whereabouts just yet?"

"No…" The way she trails off makes the redhead shift in place, his head tilting in the slightest bit.

Something's bothering her, but asking what it is will make it worse. No doubt about that much. "There's your answer."

"You didn't do it for me." Matter-of-factly, she huffs and lets their eyes meet. It'd be so much _easier _if they'd move frantically when he lies, or if they'd thin when he thinks of the truth. Unlike Anna, the man before her doesn't have any dead giveaways. As a matter of fact, trying to psychoanalyze him feels like trying to find a cause for her curse.

_Wait a minute_. It's not supposed to be a curse anymore.

So why does it still feel like one?

He pinches the bridge of his nose, feigning exhaustion. "Surely, Anna could convince you of a number of things. One of which is likely to include seeing through the rest of my exile." Already, Hans can see the look on her face – and granting her a reward like that is nowhere _near _his agenda. "You've given me an opportunity, and I don't intend to waste it." This, needless to say, is far more efficient of a truth than any of the others that tap at his skull.

Upon hearing his reply, she almost feels guilty for asking. Still, the man who wielded the blade and grinned her down in her most terrifying dream is sitting comfortably at a desk that _she's _providing. With this in mind, forgiveness flees and is, once more, thousands of miles away.

He likes that she doesn't reply – it means that she's thinking. And _he _thinks that she's quite malleable like this, and it earns the queen one of his warmer smiles.

Much like any other woman he's come in contact with, Elsa is her own shade of clay. The moment he completes the warm-up process, he'll be fully capable of doing as he pleases… and do, he certainly will.

For now, she doesn't seem to buy it. "When do you think you'll be finished?"

"The first is nearly done," he looks back to the parchment with a creased forehead. "Is there any chance we can arrange a meeting with the rest of the council? We'll need more hands if these letters are going to be sent out in a timely manner."

She knows there's an incentive at hand, otherwise he wouldn't be so keen on finishing up as soon as possible. "Of course." Sure, he might be making a turnaround… but not this soon. Then again, it's not like she won't be keeping an eye out. "Is this afternoon alright?"

"Just fine," the words are far colder this time – he's onto her suspicions, and has no problem tossing the ball back to her side of the field.

Another prickly question rolls off of her tongue before she has the chance to stop it. "Hans?"

"Your majesty?" His back is to her, but it's not disrespectful in any sense of the word. It sounds more like an expectant statement than a question, and distinguishing which is which will probably dizzy the queen.

So she puts it in as few words as possible. Hopefully, he'll do the same with his answer. "Are you still… not with us? In the realm of the living?"

He berates himself for not knowing better – of _course _she would have trouble letting that one go. With no intentions of revealing any massive truths just yet, the former prince lets his shoulders fall before a reply.

"Taking a corpse from its coffin doesn't make it any less dead." A guttural voice only makes his answer that much more ominous, but that's not necessarily intentional. He's still in the stages of waking up, really, and his throat is impossibly dry.

Although she wouldn't call it being 'caught off guard', the fact that he refers to himself as a corpse at all unsettles her. If she were sensitive to the cold, chills would make her shoulders heave.

If he were _undead_, wouldn't he look sickly and bare razor-edged teeth?

The probability of a lean, chiseled-featured prince being dead in a literal sense is nearing zero. It's certainly a drastic figure of speech, but a figure of speech nonetheless.

Melancholia blankets the air. "I'm sorry you feel that way."

"No need," already, he's parting with her. "I'll see you in a few hours."

* * *

By the time she gets to the main room, he's already seated at the opposite head of the table. While she's tempted to roll her eyes, manners get the best of Elsa and she simply shuts the door behind her after a quiet exhalation.

Already, the council waits with twined fingers and pens ready for Hans' first decree.

His posture is pristine, back straight and shoulders pressed back – hollow eyes find Elsa's within seconds of her entrance, and he greets her with a quirk of his mouth.

She makes no mistake of taking the other end, dusting off her lap as a headache begins to form.

"It's imperative that these letters are sent out by Sunday afternoon, at the latest."

Elsa tenses. "In two days?"

"Time is of the essence, your _highness_." It's still venom in his mouth. Just looking at the monarch, not a snowy hair out of place now that she's had the time to gat herself makes him grit his teeth. If anything, Hans is brimful with private displays of aggression and dominance. Not a single one would ever make its way to the surface – how could it? That would simply be too obvious. "If you want your people to comply, they'll need time. Our first assembly will be held on Monday morning."

There's no point in denying that he knows how the masses think, because it certainly makes sense. "To comply?" Still, she wants to clarify.

"Despite the pleasant little democracy you think you're running, there will always be some who disagree. Perhaps those who think a queen isn't fit to rule? Either way, we'll need to single them out as swiftly as possible and bring them in for questioning… coercing, both of which will probably take place."

He's musing so eloquently, and it's hard to keep up. "_Coercing_? Not by force…"

"By any means necessary," he interrupts, and by the collective silence about the room, the council seems to agree. "On the day of Corstorphine's arrival, we'll need to inform them that their children are to stay inside. We can't have any little ones spilling your magical secret, now can we?"

Finn dips his pen, and jots that down.

"Surely, we could trust a few of them?" The idea to hide children away on a day where a _festival _is being held seems unfair, and she makes no mistake of saying so.

As his brows knit together, Hans lifts a hand to smooth out the sheet of paper before him. "If you think this is about trust, I'll need you to reconsider. With your life on the line, I'd rather your priorities _not _be in regards to which children are having the most fun."

"Your majesty, I believe he has a p-point. The only concern I have is how we'll convince the people that their children staying inside is best… While they might not see a problem with lying for the queen, asking this of them might be too much."

Yet again, Hans is at a loss. "So tell them their children could be put in danger by the opposing kingdom."

"And _lie_? Is this your only defense mechanism?"

He doesn't look her in the eyes. "In lieu of waving your conscience around like a flag, perhaps you should take my advice. You let it get the best of you and 'did the right thing' last time, right? Now, look where we are."

"—Scrambling like anxious vultures." General Groff, seated to the left of Finn, pulls at the edge of his curling mustache. Evidently, his sentiments are all too similar.

"_Fine_," Elsa says through her teeth, the word sounding harsher than ever. "We'll _lie_. Don't be surprised when this comes back to bite us." Perhaps if her ego didn't feel so objectified, she'd think more about the good Hans has done in the matter of a little less than ten hours.

In fear of appreciating his, well, aforementioned lack of morals, she doesn't look his way when she rises from her chair and takes her leave.

Lips parting just slightly, Hans' eyes narrow. Getting through to her will take time, but he's got more than a little determination on his side. And even as the table falls to silence in concert and drapes over them like a heavy sheet, he realizes that Arendelle's _royal council _is at _his _disposal.

Already, he's on the staircase that leads to Elsa's throne. And if this keeps up, she'll hand it over without even regretting as much.

* * *

**Alright, so I'm a little anxious about that dream sequence- I hope it made you panic almost as much as it made Elsa!  
Either way, we're leading up to some pretty big things and I'm so excited! Thanks so much for all your kind words and advice, it all means the world to me! If you're still following along, you get infinite great things and an official membership to the Hans Appreciation Squad. Unless you're not fond of him (which is totally understandable, considering dream!Hans was pretty damn awful to just about everyone), in which case I can reward you with, I don't know, popcorn? **

**You're so great, readers! And if it wouldn't be an inconvenience, I'd really appreciate some reviews and any thoughts you have!  
Thanks again for everything. I can't wait for next chapter - we'll finally get around to some _real _tension. Sorry if you're not a fan of taking things slowly, but I think it's crucial that Hans and Elsa are both given their time and space to appreciate each other, know what I mean? **

**Slow burn is always best, in my opinion. Anyways, "a storm is coming", so keep your eyes peeled! c:  
Happy belated Ragnarok, btw! Did anyone catch that? **


	5. Chapter 5

Much to Elsa's dismay, the letters are all sent out on time.

For the most part, she doesn't want to rely on a traitor that haunts her dreams – but what choice does she have? It's much like he's said: her life is on the line, and there isn't much else she _can _do. The ambassador of Corstorphine, she imagines, will be relentless in his investigation and any room for faltering is time long past.

It's unfortunate that she's being forced to trust Hans with her kingdom – not to mention hazardous that her life, too, is close to dropping into his hold. Claiming that 'anything is better than dead' is hard to do, particularly when her dreams include Anna being harmed by the infamous prince.

Miraculously enough, she's in possession of _just _enough courage to will herself back up to par before Monday's arrival. Still, lying in such a comfortable bed makes even _Elsa _wish that she would never have to leave. It seems a tad more like Anna's territory, so the blonde can't help but be surprised by the doors being pressed open by her redheaded sister.

"The festival's here!" Arms spreading wide on each side of her, Anna's quick to hop on the mattress with a grin that warms Elsa unlike any other. What's so impressive about the shorter girl is how _effortlessly _she carries joy on her shoulders. Elsa merely wishes that there weren't any secrets between the two of them.

Yet another one pries them apart, though no one could tell with just a look. Sprawling over Elsa's body underneath the covers, she spread-eagles before bursting into peals of laughter. "We have to hurry! General Groff wants us to give the speech at noon!"

Though she doesn't move, the languid queen musters a smile.

"I'm awake," she assures. "It's a little early for you, though."

Rolling over, the younger sibling sighs and rests a cheek in her free hand. "I couldn't sleep! It's just such a big day, and I know I haven't really been around to help out, but I want to be here now!"

Such a… big day?

"Anna," starting off with a negative won't get her anywhere—not with her sister. With years of experience, the blonde knows better, and she extends a hesitant hand to tuck some of the princess' unruly hair behind her ear. "Will you stand with me?" How it is that Hans will monitor the crowd without being caught, Elsa has no idea, but she's counting on one to strike her sooner than later.

Banking on it, actually.

Anna blinks twice. "You mean… in the front?"

"We couldn't have you anywhere else, now could we?" Stifling laughter is harder than she thinks, but it's incredibly soft and fairly close to inaudible. Oh, how she craves things to be just a smidgen simpler…

The princess springs up and makes a perch out of the bed's corner, each delicate hand coming up to curl beneath her chin. "This is _great_, Elsa! It'll be really—_really _great, I just know it. Get ready, come on!"

Luckily, she doesn't push any further, hopping back to her feet and prancing right out the door.

* * *

Believe it or not, Arendelle is adorned in floral arrangements and streamers by the time Elsa's fully dressed and prepared – what has yet to transpire, as luck would have it, is the most crucial: yes, she's _ready_, but any excuse as to why Hans isn't thousands of miles away (much less not still ten feet below their prison cell) continues to escape her.

Just beyond the door, a knock disrupts the moment's agitation.

"I suppose I'm as ready as I'll ever be… Come in!"

In comes a man – one she guesses is a part of the council, as he's clad in their particular uniform – though a kerchief veils his identity. "It's no suit of armor, but it'll do." After a slight tug at the cloth around his neck, Hans bows his head.

All in all, he's resisting the urge to smile wider than the Jostedalselva River when her shoulders fall in relief.

"Oh, Hans—it's just you."

Irony breaks his composure, but he nods all the same. "Just me, yes. I knew you'd need a better cover for Princess Anna, and this does the trick as far as anyone else is concerned. None of the council members had any questions, at least."

Just him? _Just _him?

It's hard to believe what he's hearing – but it's another indication of his plan flying successfully below the radar.

The smirk that runs his lips raw is smoother than usual, and his voice turns to velvet. "You look incredible." Needless to say, the way her hands fold before her middle make him wonder if, just possibly, she's a little nervous. Not entirely for the reasons that he'd like her to be, but nervous nonetheless.

"Thank you," comes her dry reply, the ice queen's eyes falling away in the seconds that follow. "Do you always do that? Think on your feet?"

It probably isn't intended as one, but he takes it as a compliment. Throughout the pages of his book, astuteness is an absolute necessity. Without it, he'd still be aching in a concrete prison cell without the slightest idea as to how he might leave it. "It helps from time to time."

"Are you really this confident in your ability to spot a liar? What if there are a few that you miss, and it just so happens that they find the ambassador before we find them?" Elsa's hands are rattling, and he'd let his enclose hers if she wouldn't flinch away before he could even make the decision to do so.

At the very least, he's satisfied with his ability to read her. "If there's anything I can do without fail, it's this. Trust me—"

"Highly unlikely."

Amused, his eyelids fall with a curt chuckle. "With this. And nothing else, if that's what it comes down to." Though he doesn't warm the blonde's slender hands, one or two steps closer can't hurt.

To be frank, he's a partially caught off guard when she doesn't withdraw. Perhaps it has something to do with standing her ground, or wanting to come off less distressed than the reality of her situation – which he's perfectly and contently aware of.

"Queen Elsa, allow me to ease your concerns." It isn't a request, per say. Not this time. "Considering how little room we have to take risks or make mistakes, we'll look into even the most unreasonable of suspicions to assure your safety… and grandeur." Stroking her ego? Quite possibly, but it does the job.

Just in time to watch her forehead crease and lips purse behind steepled fingers, Hans adjusts silken fabric so that it can, once again, rest above the bridge of his nose. "There's no need to worry over the princess accidentally running into me… Again. I'll stand behind several others in similar robe. No one will suspect a thing."

Really, he isn't giving her room for so much as a thought.

"I certainly hope not."

She gnaws on the inside of her cheek when he holds the door open, and makes it her job to lead the rest of the way.

* * *

By the time everyone is stationed in his or her rightful place, Elsa's hands are not only gloved, but they're clasped tightly together. The queen knows better than to look over her shoulder, as Anna might address that fact within moments of noticing it.

It's tough, really—trying to pull herself together when Hans is disguised only a few yards behind them on the platform that's unsettlingly similar to the one in her dream. He could change his mind in no time – sabotage her… and it seems like that would make so much more sense.

However, the impersonating prince merely straightens out. For now, he's not concerned with the queen or with what she has to say. His eyes flit through the crowd, immediately catching sight of the guards prepared to take note of those who respond hastily.

Yes, the Queen leads them – and _yes_, the princess is at arm's length, but the time for lurching forward and exposing them has yet to rear its ever-delightful head. So as Elsa clears her throat, his mouth takes the form of the Cheshire cat's. Without the material over his throat and face, it would be a dead giveaway.

Instead, his gaze thins and watches a few expressions turn to apprehension. The women haven't brought their children, as instructed (they'll return home and assure the youths that there's no place for them at the main assembly), and with such obedience, he's sure that Elsa would like to believe in even faster cooperation.

He knows better, and his ears prick up when she clears her throat.

"I know this may seem a little unorthodox, but one of our neighboring kingdoms has interest in… my powers," she starts off strong, not faltering in the slightest bit. But even from his position, Hans can see the way she ducks her head and tugs at the fingertips of each glove. "Corstorphine will abuse them if they find out the truth – they want to involve us in a war they just might lose… and I'll need all of your help to assure that the ambassador and his men don't have a reason to include Arendelle in their bloodbath."

Surely, Anna senses the disquiet in her sister, because she steps forward and links arms with the blonde. Lack of intuition or not, she's a soothing variable that Elsa needs more than just about anything.

Temptation flicks at Hans' attention span – he'd like to see their brief, heartwarming experience for reasons unbeknownst to him (more blackmail, perhaps?), but he quells the desire with a quirk of his brow.

Towards the back of a crowd stand two, burly men. On their arms are frail women with dark lashes and sharp mouths that he suspects hide daggers for teeth. It feels too cliché, but he doesn't give them the benefit of the doubt – _certainly _not when the one on the left groans loudly enough for the entire island to hear.

Before Hans can make a suggestion to the council, Anna cuts off his opportunity. "Look, I know it sounds crazy—" the pause makes Hans chuckle. Oh, how she must be _seething _beneath that faintly regal composure. "But it's important that we go through with this! Otherwise, who knows what they'll do?" Without missing a beat, a light squeeze to Elsa's upper arm sends a message between the two of them that Hans doesn't have the time to interpret.

"My sister is right. As much as I'd rather not have everyone lying for my sake, it's for all of you, too. For your families…" pausing, Elsa's lower lip falls behinds the top row of pearly whites.

More than anything, Hans wants to nudge her forward – and he can hear himself mentally doing so. Encouraging her, not quite cheering her on but close enough to it.

_Come on, Elsa…_

"And for the safety of our kingdom. I trust that you will all keep the children inside, in case of emergency, and keep all suspicions at bay."

General Groff steps forward, and Hans guesses it's a preemptive move to make sure that Finn doesn't leave the crowd with any more doubts in their minds. "Good people of Arendelle," unlike the knights along the left and right of the stage, he's garbed in shades of pale green and black. "There's no need for alarm. You're all still in excellent care, and the capable hands of Queen Elsa."

For the most part, Arendelle seems compliant. Confusion dulls without much effort, and worry feels as though it's been muted for the time being.

Unfortunately, 'mute' is a setting which is only temporary. Not to mention one that's being tampered with in the same second that Hans sets his eyes on a group of miscreants with their noses wrinkled and fists balled up.

Though he doesn't make any harsh gestures to point out the faces of those who internally criticize so blatantly, the prince has no trouble etching them into his memory.

And when Elsa and Anna are finished thanking them all for their time, he remembers each feature like a savant.

* * *

He names them off to a small group of guards, and no less than an hour after the sun begins to set, a private room is filled with familiar figures from earlier that day.

Forced to remove the disguise for proper interrogation, Hans greets them knowing all too well that they're aware of who he is. His patience, he knows for a fact, will be the only thing between his hands and their throats.

But oh how _grand _pathetic flesh might feel… he's already smiling just thinking about it!

"So what," he must be daydreaming, because the stocky man seated before him catches his attention whilst ridding himself of an itchy throat. "_You're _in charge? Figures."

Folding both hands behind his back to assist his restraint, Hans takes a glance around the large room. The council claims that each wall is thinnest here – for listening (and checking up on his methods, of course), but for now, it's just him and a few troublesome souls. As far as he knows, a similar routine will be conducted for the rest of the week. Early questioning is of the essence considering their lack of time.

Initially, Hans comes to the conclusion that he can set an example. "And what, pray tell, do you figure?"

"Queenie can't do anything for herself, so she'd let a _criminal _help her."

Wearing a serpent's smile, Hans is tight-lipped and decisive before he lunges forward swiftly. In seconds, he towers over the civilian. "If you value your household and dignity—which I imagine you do, as I saw you standing by a woman earlier whom I assume is with child," the details are astounding, but the man doesn't stagger just yet. "Keeping that hole of a mouth shut might be in your best interest."

He isn't necessarily surprised when the shorter male's reply sounds an awful lot like a low blow.

"_You _got out of a death sentence. Why shouldn't I?"

Occasionally, Hans has to remember that there are lambs, and there are wolves. "The _queen _has no need for vermin." This citizen is a lamb, no matter how sour his tone, and harming his ego rather than slitting his throat is, no doubt, the better move. "As I'm _sure _you can see, I was a different story."

While this is no game of chess, he'd like to believe that he's placed each piece to his liking thus far. This point is only proven when Elsa barges in.

He's only speaking so defensively because she's been listening. With reason, she motions to their left so they can speak more privately. Really, she's curious.

Partially, the monarch wants to believe that his tone is all a part of this massive game – but the irate crescendo that sounded amidst the chiding is hard to ignore. If it would stop echoing for just a moment, perhaps she could get her thoughts in order, but she has little time and looking into his straining eyes only makes her more anxious.

"There was no need to be so harsh…"

A scoff might be more in character, but Hans gives a sincere crease of his forehead, brows pulling together. "No man should denounce his queen. Such blatant disrespect is inexcusable."

Oddly enough, her heart is a pounding hammer against cloth. It resonates in her ears and makes their tips heat up in so few seconds that it's hard to believe. Why her pulse accelerates – why he looks so genuine… none of it adds up.

Though it isn't a visible amount of pleasure, Hans is enjoying this to an impossible extent. If someone were to froth with gratitude, he imagines it would look a lot like this.

Naturally, he's the embodiment of concern.

Why does leaving him to rot when he looks this way seem like such a poor decision on her part? How could anyone muster up theatrics like _these_?

Of course, there's always the notion that he might actually be on her side, and that her paranoia is a result of fever dreams and foggy memories. But how is she supposed to think in such a positive way when several blades already pose a threat, and point in her direction?

"You almost sound like you mean it," she admits after a sigh. "I think I understand now."

He nearly recoils – she's not just a challenge. She's an _obstacle_; and one that he'll overcome at all costs. "I do mean it." The execution is smooth, and he can see her pupils dilate through thick lashes after blinking. They're not so far from each other, and no one can see them, but he knows that making moves that are better suited for moments when her breath is hitching and her shoulders are heaving too early will take away their power. So he keeps it simple. "What's that?"

If he keeps this up, her head might just rupture.

"How it was that Anna believed you." Immediately, she leaves so that he can finish filtering through those that jeopardize the kingdom, but it feels like a win in his book.

All it means is that she's struggling to maintain her qualms, and breaking apart her resolve should be even easier.

Needless to say, Hans has to fight off a little enthusiasm – frankly, he can't _wait _to watch her fall apart in his hands.

* * *

**About time!**

**Sorry for the wait, you guys. I'm surprised this even got done - all thanks to me putting off my studies. I've got two big midterms Wednesday, so I'm not sure if I'll be working much on chapter 6 until after that, but I'm trying! Thanks again for all the follows (there's more than 50 now, and that might not be a lot, but to me... it means everything!), I can't even express how grateful I am. **

**Hopefully you guys liked this one! I really like aggressive!Hans, even though he's being fake for Elsa's sake, hhhehuhh.  
Anyhow, I've gotta get back to studying for the night, but I really enjoyed writing the little sisterly love bits between everything here. I think I haven't given Anna enough credit - she's so brave and adorable, so you'll be seeing more of her sooner than later! And definitely some real development is coming up, so be patient please! **

**I love you guys! And if it's not a bother, I'd really appreciate a review... as always!  
Thanks again! **


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